


The Alternian Factor

by Imasupermuteant



Category: Homestuck, Star Trek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Trek Fusion, M/M, Multi, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, boldly going
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-28
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-02 20:52:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imasupermuteant/pseuds/Imasupermuteant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Egbert didn’t get to be a starship captain because of his adorable teeth and his numerous familial connections.  John is a starship captain because he gets shit done.  Even when it means fucking over his best friend for the good of the federation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

John Egbert (Captain, U.S.S. Skaia) receives the transmission from Admiral Lalonde to his personal PADD at 0800 hours, stardate 2241.3. It pings just as he’s sitting down in the command chair for the morning with his totally non-regulation cup of tea (english breakfast, hot) sitting by his elbow in its specially-designed container.  

Some foolish engineer, way back in the dark ages of Starfleet, had decided that the bridge was not an acceptable place for beverages and maliciously neglected to install cup holders in any of the chairs. Which was a terrible idea and John had to get Lieutenant Commander Strider to devise a sort of suction-cup thing that will let him sip while he captains.  

John takes a sip, and gets down to captaining.

“What’ve we got?” He asks as he starts to scroll through the data packet. As far as he can tell, it contains the usual information about requisitions and personnel, and summary data on their last routine diplomatic mission.  It’s all very important, which of course means that it is written in the driest and most boring language possible.

“Long range scanners picked up a whole lot of cool space junk about four light years out and I’ve got more than one science department frothing at the mouth.” Jade says brightly, turning slightly to give him a wink.

“Is ‘cool space junk’ a technical term, Lieutenant?” John asks with a grin and he thumbs through more miscellaneous bullshit on his PADD, “And are we going to need to send a shuttle?”

Jade shakes her head, “We’ve already sent out a few automated probes to collect data. They should be returning within the hour. Commander Lalonde will be able to debrief you if we find anything particularly enlightening.”

“Mmm.” The sciencey things are part of their main mission goals but John still struggles to work up much excitement about what amounts to interstellar rock dust. He can’t help but feel more interested in their next mission, which is a blinking little reminder tacked on to the end of the normal transmissions.  John can hardly contain his excitement as he opens the file.  After nearly 8 months of ambassadorial shuttle service, geological expeditions, and entirely uneventful border patrol, John is ready for something _real_.  

“Lieutenant Strider?” He doesn’t even bother to look up from the PADD because _mission_. John knows that it’s going to be way more interesting than whatever Dave has to say.

“The void of space is full of nothing but background bullshit and shitty Romulan soap operas.  It is silence and darkness and terrible pop music, withering in the black void until not even the tiniest bit of data reaches our highly sensitive mechanical ears—”

“So no transmissions then?” It’s better to cut Dave off before he gets rolling.

“Silent as a tense family dinner after your sister gets Andorian-married, Captain.  Nothing but the priority transmission from Starfleet Command this morning.”

“Have you had a chance to review it yet?” John asks as he does just that.  The bridge crew all respond in the negative. Dave mentions something about it being “eyes only”. Lieutenant Strider has, apparently, decided to stick to regulation this morning and not gone rifling through John’s mail. He totally deserves a cookie.

John is humming as he brings up the mission specs and there’s a flash of pure _thrilled_ when he sees that it’s a high-level diplomatic mission and that probably means _first contact_ and is John ever excited about the idea of meeting a whole society of brand new friends. Gosh.

His gives up on reading the thing linearly and skips down to the bit with the juiciest details like destination and potential threats.  This is the sort of thing that John lives for. The very reason he joined starfleet in the first place.  Exploration. Peacemaking. Going boldly where no man, woman, or otherwise-gendered being has gone before— 

_—oh._

The name of their intended star-system is outlined in bright, accusatory, flashing red and John feels his heart do a strange sinking-floating emotions thing.  

The words “Alternian Empire” are positioned right in the center of the screen in bold, beautiful capslock.  

Karkat is going to be so _beyond_ pissed.  He’s probably going to do that weird high-pitched screaming thing that is supposedly threatening in his culture, but in reality sounds like a frustrated kitten.

John is ready for this mission. John has never been more ready for any mission ever in the history of Starfleet.

“ _Yes_.” John whispers to himself.  

“Captain?” Jade swivels her chair around and there’s the moment, they’re all looking at him with trepidation as he smiles like a doofus at his PADD and oh _man_. When Karkat hears about this—

—Speaking of which.

“Where is Commander Vantas?”  

John is just reaching for his communicator, fully intending to summon his wayward officer, when the doors swoosh open and there his is. The man of the day. The star of the most-definitely-figurative show.

“WHAT THE EVERLOVING FUCK IS THE MEANING OF THIS, CAPTAIN SHITSPONGE?”

Commander Karkat Vantas, executive officer of the starship _Skaia_ , glares hard enough to break faces and shouts louder than at least three Klingon warriors.  His main hobbies include taking hours-long naps and making the enlisted men cry. He has been known to use the terrifying (and frequently accurate) rumors about his species in order to get what he wants, and he has a cultural exemption order that allows him to use profanity in the presence of commanding officers.  

Karkat and Dave both swear like 20th century Earth sailors. But Karkat has an actual piece of paper with some kind of official stamp that gives him permission to call senior officers “fucknugget”.  Dave has little more than a charming southern drawl and a skillset that makes him almost entirely unfireable.  

Dave, at the moment, is watching the first officer the way a particularly bloodthirsty spectator might watch beginning moments of a bull fight.  John isn’t sure who is the bull in this situation. But someone is going to get gored.

Karkat storms onto the bridge with nearly twice his usual serving of rage.  There’s a PADD in his hand and the screen is cracked. John is instantly aware that there will be no gentle breaking of the news to his first officer.  The news has been broken.  The news has been quite thoroughly smashed to bits.  

The trick now is going to be keeping the ship and the crew intact until Hurricane Vantas blows over.  

“I see you got the new mission briefing!” John cheers, “Have you had the chance to review the specifications for—”

“No I have not!”  The entire bridge is watching with a voyeuristic interest born of nearly three years serving under John and Karkat’s joint command. “I didn’t read a single. fucking. line. Because I am not participating in this mission.”

“Uh. I think you’ll find that you sort of _have to_.” John says, “I mean, unless you have some kind of moral objection to peace treaties?”

“I have every single moral objection! All of them!” The device in Karkat’s hand makes a groaning noise as his grip tightens.  John locks eyes with Dave from across the room and sees a single eyebrow raise. This is slightly more than the usual Vantas tantrum.  And something about the tension in Karkat’s claws makes John worry for the state of his bridge.

“Okay, we’re having an officers meeting in the ready room in—” John pretends to look at his chronometer, “—five minutes.  We can discuss your concerns then.”

And _there_ is the upset kitten noise. And there is the first officer stomping off the bridge just moments after arriving.  

John has a feeling that this is going to be a difficult enterprise.  But then again, that’s his favorite kind.

 

* * *

 

There is no meeting in the ready room.  That would be silly, as Karkat is still breathing fire on anyone who approaches him. Figuratively, of course. Alternians can’t breathe fire. John has asked.

What is in the ready room is a quiet space for Karkat to flail in peace.

It’s certainly going to take some adept verbal acrobatics to get Karkat on board. But John needs this mission. It is the best mission ever.  And John always needs Karkat.  

Karkat is the only Alternian serving on the _USS Skaia_. He is the only Alternian to rise to the rank of Lieutenant Commander and the only Alternian to serve as first officer on an ambassador class starship.  In fact, Karkat is the only Alternian to ever serve in _any_ capacity on _any_ class starship. Because Karkat is the only Alternian to ever join Starfleet.

John’s first officer clawed his way through four years at the academy (sometimes literally) and within his tiny body burns the fury of a thousand suns.  He managed to install himself as Chief Tactical Officer on the USS Dauntless before anyone but John had learned his name, and he is probably the main reason that John received command of the _Skaia_ (instead of a dishonorable discharge) after the disaster that was the Betazoid IV mission.

They’ve been together for years, and John isn’t entirely convinced that any other commander would even allow Karkat onto his ship. Which works just fine for John because, while it might have been a struggle to get Karkat assigned to him in the first place, not a single one of the top brass would attempt to reassign him now.  

Karkat is a force of nature unto himself, and while other captains might prefer someone a little bit more calm and logical as an executive officer, John would have no one else at his back.

“That doesn’t mean I’m going to play along with this ridiculous farce of a mission. Stop complementing me.” Karkat hisses, “I am _not_ going to do this. I refuse. Do you hear me refusing? Because this is the sound of refusal.”

John lets himself flop bodily onto the long conference table, stretching out on top in an entirely undignified way and following Karkat with his eyes as he paces back and forth. There is only one technique left in his arsenal.

“Kaaaaaaaaaaa—”

“No.”

“—aaaaaaaaaaaa—”

“No.”

“——-aaaaaaaarrrrrrrr—”

“NO. FUCK YOU.”

“ _—kat_.” John widens his eyes and blinks, letting them get big and wet as he peers up at Karkat, “Best officer.  Best friend.”

“I don’t think you understand exactly how—”

“ _Number one_.”

“ _John_.” Karkat rubs a hand across his face with an exhausted grunt and John gives himself a mental pat on the back, he should be agreeing any second now.  Karkat always agrees when John pulls out the pet names.

“John.” Karkat heaves a sigh, “ _Captain Egbert._ I find myself too emotionally compromised to complete this mission and as such I am relieving myself of duty in accordance with Starfleet regulation 619, effective immediately. So suck my fucking bulge.”

John grins, “That rule only applies if you’re in command of a starship.”

“It does?”

“Yup.”

“Oh. Fuck.” Karkat sighs.

“Sooo… mission debriefing at 1500 hours then?” John grins and seats himself primly on the tabletop. It’s not professional in any way but John is a captain now and he gets to decide what that means.  Not to mention that Karkat in no way counts as someone that John is obligated to be dignified in front of.  He can sit on tables all he damn wants.

Karkat swells with renewed rage and John prepares himself for another round of shouting, but there is no inventive cursing forthcoming.  He just— _deflates_ , rubbing his hands across his horns in a gesture that John hasn’t seen since their first harrowing weeks as officers.  

“No. John. No. I— I realize that you’ve never really been one to respect my boundaries and normally I would have no actual complaints, but I’m dead fucking serious when I say that I will not be participating in this mission.  I’m not going to try and talk you out of it because you are an imbecile of epic proportions and it would be a waste of my increasingly limited breath. But I. am not. _doing this_.”

Karkat takes a deep breath and John can practically feel him dig his heels in, “And if you want to stick me in the brig or demote me or transfer me to the fucking _Intrepid_ that is fine. Abso-shitting-lutely _fine_ with me because I am never allowing a single atom of my body back in Alternian space!”  

His voice shakes just a bit on _Alternian_ , as if the word itself were hard to say and John isn’t really sure where to go from here.  Karkat usually accepts his decisions easily, albeit with a great deal of creative complaining.

“I don’t understand, Karkat,” John says, “I thought you would be pretty happy to be able to go home!”

John comes to the immediate realization that that was probably not the right thing to say.  Okay so it was pretty careless.  Actually it was probably a really dickish thing to say.  

“Fuck you, Egbert.” Karkat’s voice is soft, nothing like his usual dull roar.  In fact, John has never heard Karkat sound less angry. If anything, John would say that he was tired.  “Fuck you and— and— just. _Fuck you_.”

“Okay wait, no. I’m sorry for saying that. That was really shitty.”

“Not sorry enough.” Karkat mutters.  Something in the back of his throat rattles.  Someone unfamiliar with Alternian physiology (ie everyone) might think it was a purr, but long experiences has taught John that it is not a happy sound.

“Are we still friends?”

“Shut up.” Shut up up means ‘yes’ in Karkatish. John is in the clear.

“Do you want a hug or something?”  John spreads his arms wide and waits.

“No.” Karkat says, but he is already moving in for the cuddle, letting John wrap his arms around him tightly.  The height of the table puts Karkat at even more of a disadvantage, and John is plenty high enough to rest his chin on top of Karkat’s head.  His knees knock against Karkat’s hips and it is perfectly awkward.  

There’s a long moment where John does nothing but squeeze his friend and breathe.  The hugging is weird, he knows, but this is not the first time he’s had to have a little bit of a Senior Officer Cuddleconference. Most of John’s physical boundaries have already crumbled when it comes to his closest friends.  John tends to blame it on the Orion he roomed with in the academy but truthfully he’s always been really huggy.  Karkat has never been one to complain about it.

“I don’t want to go back.”  Karkat whispers finally.

“I know, “John says, “And if you really don’t want to go I will call up the admiral herself and tell her where to stick it. But—”

Karkat makes an unpleasant noise that reminds John a little bit of a shuttle collision, metal scraping against metal, but somehow coming from a throat. It’s almost physically painful to listen to but also heartening. _This_ is troll purring, and he’s getting somewhere with the hugging.  Good.

“But—” John sighs, “They only gave us the mission because we have you with us! It’s sort of a big deal and you’re— Karkat you are the _only_ person who can do this. There is only one of you in the whole federation!”

“I know!” Karkat growls. He pulls himself away and stands by the door, glaring. Leaving John sitting alone on the conference table with his feeting kicking in the air. “I am keenly aware that I’m the only fucking troll in this entire stupid fleet.”

“Yeah well you’re the only one who is going to get us through any kind of negotiations with the Empire. I don’t know if you noticed but you guys have some really weird and strict social conventions that make you kind of hard to deal with—

“—fuck you too Egbert!”

“—and there’s no way we’re going to get a peace treaty without your help!”

“I _know_. I know. Fuck.”

“So?”

“ _I don’t know_.”  

“So at least brief us on what we need to know to not get ourselves killed.  You don’t have to promise to be on the away team. Just give us some information? Okay?”

“ _Fine_.”

“And when you’re preparing the briefing take a minute to think about how many lives we’ve lost at the Alternian border in the last year alone.”

Karkat looks at him like he just murdered Karkat’s puppy and leaves the room. There’s no stomping or shouting or attempts to make the automatic door slam shut instead of sliding quietly.  He’s just gone.

John knows that was mean. Mean and manipulative. But John Egbert didn’t get to be a starship captain because of his adorable teeth and his numerous familial connections.  John is a starship captain because he gets shit done.  Even when it means fucking over his best friend for the good of the federation. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

The senior officers gather in the ready room at five-minutes-past-1200 hours on the dot. Just about everyone is happily seated by the time Karkat slouches into the room with a face that could summon stormclouds into a climate-controlled vacuum.  

“Are we all here? I don’t care so don’t bother answering.” Karkat slams a stack of PADDs onto the conference table and takes a seat at John’s side. He kicks at Dave under the table, but the gesture doesn’t have anything like its normal level of furious passion. John sighs, it’s like watching a dog refuse to eat.  

Dirk and Jade are the only other crew members joining them for the briefing, as they’ll be the ones babysitting the ship while the away team is hopefully not causing an interstellar incident.

They all cluster together at half of the big table in the briefing room. John is, of course, sitting in the big chair at the head of the table. Because he is a captain and captains always get the big chair.

John can’t help but notice that Dave has taken no steps whatsoever to prevent himself from being within range of Karkat’s pointy, angry limbs.  He’s seated himself just to the right of the only empty chair at the table and is looking aggressively uninterested in whatever Karkat has to say.  But, of course, he doesn’t look away from Karkat’s usual opening tantrum.  For someone who knows next to nothing about Alternian romance, Dave seems to have a pretty solid grasp on his hateflirting technique.

“The basics, Captain Dumbutt.” Karkat says at John with a twisting wave of his hand as he begins passing datapads around the table.

“Sure thing, Commandbuddy.”  John brings up the big display and centers it in on the quadrant in question, “This is the system of planets currently operating as the physical base of the Alternian Empire. Until recently, the Federation and Alternia have enjoyed an incredibly tense truce. We have, historically, disapproved of the Alternian habit of conquering pre-warp cultures in very messy ways. And as well all know, Alternia has kept themselves out of Federation space and away from direct conflict with any Federation planets.”

“Apart from the occasional refugee--” and here John pointedly does not look at Karkat and Karkat does not make a single face, “We’ve had no communication with Alternia and insufficient political motivation to enter Alternian space... Until _today_.”

No dramatic music plays, but John is okay with that because he can make the ‘ _dun dun dun_ ’ himself. Karkat rolls his eyes.

“Last week, Starfleet headquarters received a message from someone claiming to be the Imperial Condescension herself... And by that I mean the new Condesce, who has supposedly ousted her predecessor in a violent coup.”

Karkat snorts, “Bloody revolution is the only method of succession in Alternia. That isn’t what’s in question here--”

“--Shoosh. _I’m_ telling the mission story at this friendleader meeting.” _Rude_. John turns back to the display, “So as _I was saying_ , we got a message from someone claiming to be the new ruler of Alternia, requesting that we open communication and begin the peace talks. If this communication is genuine we’re looking at a potential peace with Alternia for the first time in... Well... Ever.”

“So how big is that ‘if’?” Jade asks.  She’s taking notes which is just so _cool_ and she is probably the best navigator John has ever had. She is also the _only_ navigator John has ever had, but that doesn’t change the facts.  

Karkat leans forward, it’s his show now. “There is a likelihood that this whole thing is one giant clusterfuck of a fake.  I wouldn’t put it past the empire to try and bait us into initiating hostilities. We are going to have to plan on the very real possibility that this is a trap and we’re all going to die”

“On the other hand, there is an equal likelihood that this communication is legit, and no real reason why the Empire would decide to strike at us _now_ of all times.  Things could have changed a shitton, but they weren’t exactly in peak condition for a battle with the Federation when I left, and things have probably only gotten more tragically inept since then.  The old empress was pretty fucking _old_. There had been rumors of her senility for decades before I wriggled out of the hatching caves.  I mean, the fact that a successor was produced at all is a pretty good hint that the old empress was wearing out.”

Karkat brings up a display of the message in question for all to see. It’s barely legible, printed in a blinding color with a number of strange shapes that the translators refuse to alter.

“The message is reminiscent of the writing style of Condesce the younger. She’s still using her childhood writing quirk, which is the sort of thing that very old trolls don’t really bother with since it’s a stupid affectation and impossible to fucking read. It’s not as though her royal insanity can’t just _fake_ a quirk, but that does add a bit of credibility to the claim.”

“There are all these words coming out of your mouth.” Dave has his head down on the table in a display of boredom that John knows for a fact is entirely fake, “But when you string them together they don’t make sentences. It’s like some kind of freaky orc magic.”

“ _Troll_.” Karkat hisses through his teeth.

“Please teach me your ways, oh hobgoblin, master of the mystic arts.” Dave deadpans without shifting his head.

“It means,” John interrupts, before things can come to blows. _Again_. “That we will be operating on the assumption that the message was genuine, with the knowledge that we could be warping into a trap.”

“Yeah, that.” Karkat says, “ _Anyway_ , we are going to be having diplomatic talks on the Alternian Hatching Planet, since that’s the only available location that doesn’t give us access to the imperial fleet. Which _also_ means the away team is going to have some fast fucking schoolfeeding in the history and culture of my people.”

“No wait I don’t get it.” Dirk says, peering at the schematic of the planet that Karkat has up on the big screen, “This is your home planet right? Why would they be starting peace talks somewhere more neutral?  There’s no tactical advantage for making themselves so vulnerable.”  

Karkat hisses faintly at the interruption, “I _was_ intending on explaining that in the next couple of minutes, Other Strider! To be short, they pretty much don’t give a flying fuck about the planet.  The surface is populated entirely by stupid kids. The only thing of strategic value on that festering dirtheap is the mothergrub and they can always have her moved to a secure location during the talks.”

Dave makes a disgusted face at the mention of a “mothergrub” but his brother manages to glare him into silence before he can say something offensive and start another fight.  John gives his chief engineer a grateful nod.

“Obviously we’re not sure that they’ll pick the planet,” Karkat continues, “but it _is_ on the edge of Alternian space, and I’m thinking that Fef-- the new Condesce is probably hoping you’ll see the gesture as one of trust.  It’s not much of a gamble on her part since she is aware that the Federation gets queasy about killing grubs. And it’s no big loss to the empire if a single generation of wrigglers get wiped out. If there’s one thing Alternia is good for it’s producing more cannon fodder.”

Everyone at the table looks sort of uncomfortable at Karkat’s casual discussion of child-murder, but this isn’t John’s first rodeo. He’s been hearing about Karkat’s crazy fucked-up culture for years.

“So!” John claps his hands together and grins at his officers, “Let’s get started!  Everyone not on the away team is dismissed. No, Dave that doesn’t mean you. You are on the away team and you’re going to like it. Lieutenant Harley, if you could set a course for Alternian space?”

“Wait,” Dave sits up and peers around as Jade and Dirk head back to their posts, “Everyone on the away team is just me and you and _him_? That’s it? Where the fuck're the redshirts? Who’s going to throw himself in front of a phaser for me during the inevitable shootout? What about Rose? What happens if you get down and nasty with the troll high counsel and someone needs to cure your troll-chlamydia? _John_.”

John appeals to the ceiling for patience, but the ceiling stubbornly does nothing. “We’re keeping the retinue small, Dave.  The Ambassador will be providing security for all of us when she arrives. And you are a trained medic, Dave. _You are the medical staff_. It is you.”

“I’ll have you know that I’m here to look pretty and calibrate the translators.” Dave sniffs, “And I am fucking boss at what I do.”

John rolls his eyes, “Rose refuses to leave the ship for anything less than a medical emergency and I do not blame her. We all remember the Orion mission. Let’s just get on with the briefing.  Karkat, if you would get with the sharing, please?”

Dave pushes his lips out in an exaggerated pout but, _thank the space gods_ , doesn’t say a word.

“Right.” Karkat queues up his notes and huffs a breath that is most definitely not a sigh, “I figure we’ll start with Troll family structure and romance and then I’ll move on to the hemocaste and why I felt the need to run thousands of lightyears to get away from the utter grubfuck misery orgy that is this shitty civilization. After that we will discuss military history while I try not to cry.  I will not be stopping for questions so you’d all better take pristine fucking notes. Now shut up and learn.”

 

* * *

 

They take a break for dinner and John finds Karkat sitting in his usual corner of the mess. Karkat appears to be attempting to form some kind of psychic bond with his coffee and there’s a radius of empty tables around him that tells John exactly how bad of a day he’s having.

“Hey there, buddy!” John says as he slides into the chair opposite Karkat.

“Go away.” Karkat mutters, letting his head fall to the tabletop with a heavy thunk, “I’ve revoked your conversation privileges.”

“Sure thing. I’ll shut up.” John reaches for Karkat’s coffee and is thrilled to find that it’s still hot, he takes a sip.”

“Um. What?”  

“I’ll shut up.” John tell him, “If you talk to me about how you’re feeling.”

Karkat snorts and runs a hand through his already ridiculously mussed hair, “How the fuck do you _think_ I’m feeling, asshole?”

“Yeah, I thought so.”  John wraps his hands around the sucessfully filched cup and curls himself low enough that he can meet Karkat’s eyes.  It’s time for some serious captain-first officer feelings jamming. John takes his responsibilities seriously.  

“I want you to know.” He says, “That I realize how hard this is for you--”

“You don’t have a single fucking _clue_ how--”

“I do!” John insists. He keeps his face set, trying to show Karkat just how serious he is about the mission and their friendship, “You think I’m not aware of just how difficult it is for a single troll to get to federation space? I might not have known all that stuff about blood color and forced reproduction and-- and _culling_ a couple hours ago but I always knew that you risked your life to get out of there...”

Karkat’s laugh is the kind that only comes out when things are _really not funny at all_. John can’t help but reach out to him, rubbing his back in what he hopes is a consoling way.  Karkat has always been picky about how he takes comfort. Sometimes he wants to be cuddled and pet out of his dark moods and sometimes the smallest touch will set him into a ranting fury.  

After so many years of friendship one would think that John could figure out what he needs, but John is still learning how to navigate the hurricane of emotions that is Karkat Vantas.

“Can you tell me about it then?” John asks, “I mean, I might not be able to understand but I can try.  And it might help?”  

Karkat hides behind his hands for long enough that John is convinced he’s not going to say another word. They’ll probably never talk about it again if they don’t talk about it now. And it’s not like John can convince Karkat to go to counselling because apparently trolls consider therapy to be sort of like prostitution and _boy_ is Karkat awkward around Rose ever since that came out.  

But Karkat _does_ talk.  It’s either a miracle or some kind of space-illness that is going run like wildfire through the rest of the ship. Emotional honesty and truth-telling for everyone.

“I was hiding away on freighters for weeks.” Karkat chuckles. It’s raw and rasping, and John’s heart breaks just a little but more. “I had to steal an escape pod to get out of the neutral zone and I ran out of food halfway through.”

John accepts the information with a nod and doesn’t comment. Nor does he mention the almost physical ache that feels at the thought that it took this mission to drag these stories out of someone who has been his best friend for nearly six years.

“If there were any way to take you off this mission, I would do it in a second. But that isn’t possible.”

“Why everfucking _not_?”  

“Because you’re all we’ve got!” John throws his arms in the air in a way that Karkat usually finds _hilarious_. No one’s laughing.  “Everything the federation knows about Alternia’s history and culture and diplomatic practices is you. You are it.  I’m frankly a little shocked that you haven’t had your entire life recorded in painstaking detail before now.”

Karkat’s right shoulder lifts in what is possibly the universe’s most half-assed shrug, “Nobody seemed that interested.”

“Well now we need to know more about Alternia than how many plasma cannons they’ve got and you’re our only ticket to a peaceful resolution. So I’d rather you went into this with as few ragepanic attacks as possible. Do you want to talk about your feelings yet?”

“You do realize that what you just asked me constitutes a romantic overture in my culture.”

“Well _sure_ ,” John said with an exaggerated rolls of his eyes, “But we’ve had tons of feelings jams and you haven’t forced me to make an honest troll of you yet so I figured it was just... like... _platonic_ platonic-sharing?”

“ _Platonic platonic_? You-- You fucking idiot-- I-- _Fuck_. Agh. Fuck you. Sir. Captain. _Fuck you_ because--”

“Dude none of those are full sentences.”

“You want a full sentence? _Do you want to hear what’s cooking in my fucking thinkpan_?” Karkat hisses and John can see the wordalanche coming. Gives himself a hearty pat on the back for cracking Karkat’s emotional shell.

“FINE. I’ll tell you what I’m fucking thinking assmaggot.  I’m thinking that this mission is going to kill me. I am going to die. And it’s going to be all your fault because the minute an Alternian fucking sees me they’re going to call off this entire nookstuffing piece of shit plan and cull us on sight and it’s going to be totally my own _suffering_ fault for being enough of a stupid grubfucker to walk in there in the first place.  And even if by some _miraculous_ serendipity we don’t all die at first contact I’m going to get us all killed when I screw something up because I’ve spent the last four sweeps trying to forget that I’m not a fucking Andorian from San Francisco. And it’s not as though the thought of maybe running into someone I _knew_ doesn’t terrify the living shit out of me because anyone I meet is either going to want to kill me or smother me and-- and--”

Karkat takes a deep breath but the words keep coming almost before he’s done inhaling. Like now that he’s started talking there’s no way he’ll ever stop. A tsunami of verbiage.  A hurricane of insecurity.  Some kind of logorrhea tornado.  

“--And I might have had a moirail before everything went directly to the shit nebula at warp speed. And the idea of possibly seeing him or anyone he knows is abjectly _horrifying_ because I’ve been cheating on him with you since the day we met.”

“Oh. Okay. Um. _What_?”

“Oh my sweet human jesus.” Karkat whispers as he once again hides his face in the sweet embrace of the cold metal table. “Pretend I didn’t say that.”

“Dude. Did you just say you’ve been... like... _emotions-boning_ me without my consent for six years?”

“Five and a half.”

“Okay, I was trying really hard to be calm and supportive and help you through this difficult time in your life but I hope you realize that I am now too busy feeling sort of violated.”

Karkat rolls his eyes and gives John the sort of baleful glare that lets him know he’s coming out of whatever freaked out fugue he’d been in since the debriefing began.  “John I told _you_ all about the quadrants back when we were still doing stellar cartography on the _Dauntless_. It’s not my fault that you didn’t figure out what all of the listening and the cuddling and the papping meant.”

“I’m just saying it’s common courtesy to let a guy know when he’s in a relationship!” John says.

“You celebrate our anniversary every year.”

“Friends celebrate friendiversaries all the time!”

“Your dad calls me on your birthday every year to tell me how proud he is that we’re still together.”

“My dad is proud of all of me. That doesn’t mean anything!”

“We’re listed as life-partners in the Starfleet database.”

“We are?!” John leaned forward and snapped up a nearby PADD, bringing up his personnel file and seeing Karkat’s name listed right there in the ‘spouse’ field. “Karkat, Why are we married?”

“Life partners.” Karkat corrects, “Dave changed it after the Risa mission when you tried to break into my sickbay room.”

“That made perfect sense in context.” John pouted, “And I don’t see how Dave is even capable of altering those records in the first place.”

“I didn’t ask.” Karkat said, “I was sort of... Glad?”

“Oh.” There’s a feeling in John’s chest that’s a lot like anxiety but also sort of nice. He doesn’t inspect it too closely. “I think we really, _really_ need to talk about this. And not in a makeouts way but an adult conversation and decision way.”

“Probably.” Karkat says and it’s so completely drained of any emotion or energy that John really just wants to cuddle him close and pretend they were back on the Dauntless making charts and putting chocolate in T’Porrim’s tea.

“And we are going to have that conversation just as soon as we’re done with this mission.” John says, “Because I really cannot have either one of us stressing out about the status of our brollegence when we’re trying to make contact.  Got it?”

“Yes.”  

And John hates himself a little for the moment where he hesitates to give Karkat a hug. Because hugging Karkat might possibly be his life’s calling (right after captaining spaceships) and no ways is John going to let a little cultural miscommunication fuck that up.

“You’re still my bro.” John whispers.

“Yeah. Okay. Same.” Karkat mutters into John’s shoulder.

“And I still need you on the away team.”

“I know.” Karkat sighs.  

“I really didn’t mean to make everything worse.” John says.

“I know.”

“We’ve got two standard days before we have to pick up the Ambassador and then we’re headed for Alternian space. So you’ve got just about that long to convince yourself to do it.” John gives Karkat a big squeeze, “I believe in you.”

“I hate you.” Karkat tells him, muffled by the fabric of John’s tunic.

“No you don’t.”

“No I don’t.”     

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

The thing about being captain of the U.S.S. Skaia is that most people think John got his position by way of rampant nepotism. And John has to admit that it looks pretty bad, even to him.  Every single one of his relatives is somehow involved in the fleet. Except maybe his dad. But Dad keeps house for one of the most influential Admirals in Starfleet and that’s almost as good as having a rank himself.

John is pretty gosh-damned sure that he got his commission through hard work and honest talent. But that doesn’t mean that he was completely free from the shadow of his nearest and dearest when he was up for his promotion to Captain. A lot of people thought John was too young, too inexperienced, and too well-connected to deserve a command of his own. There were a lot of powerful and important people who were against giving the Skaia to John at all. John isn’t even convinced that Admiral Lalonde was on his side when it came down to it, and she’s practically his _Mom_.

As much as he loves the _Skaia_ and all her crew, John is painfully aware that she is not the brightest gem in Starfleet’s shiny-rock box.  He tries not to mention it to the rest of the crew, they’re sensitive.

“We kind of suck.” Dave tells him during their break, about six hours into Karkat’s neverending stream of cultural information. They pass a cup of coffee back and forth, while Karkat chugs water and works on the diagrams for his next section of lecture. “I mean, we’re the last stop before being assigned to deep-space bumblefuck.--”

“I know.” John groans.

“--We spend most of our time taking readings on space dust and patrolling the black. Our crew is full of people who either pissed off someone powerful or are so tragically inhuman that they made the higher-ups uncomfortable--”

“I know.

“--And the transporters don’t work.”

“We put your spleen right back where it was and you don’t even use that organ anyway.” John says, “And I still think you were allergic to peanuts before the incident. So do you want to get to a point or are you just going to keep insulting my ship and my crew?”

“Nah. What I’m saying is why the fuck are they trusting such an important operation to _us_? I mean a key diplomatic mission like this usually goes to the _Defiant_ or the _Fesarius_ or some shit.”

“Obviously they thought it was time to step it up and start giving us the sort of work they know we can handle.” John says with as stern a tone as he can manage.

“I’m thinking it’s because they think we’re all gonna die.” Dave tells him, “That or they think Karkat is going to be our golden key. To which I say _bullshit_ and _we’re all gonna die_.”

“We’re not gonna die, Dave. I trust Karkat--”

“Well duh, you trust him! You’ve been emotions-boning the dude for almost a decade. I’m talking about our actual ability to keep on breathing after we make first contact with these fuckers.”

“I trust Karkat and the rest of the crew with my life, and I wouldn’t let us go in if I didn’t think we could get out of it alive… And successful. I mean-- I also think that we can do the mission. Not just the basic staying alive bit. The whole thing.”

“We're gonna need more than shining Egbert optimism to get through a first contact with basically the most brutal race in the known universe.”

“We also have a twelve page document explaining how to not get accidentally married.” John says with a grin, “So there’s that.”

“Yeah I feel a lot safer now, thanks.” It’s hard to tell, but John is pretty sure that Dave is rolling his eyes in the direction of his First Officer, the man currently muttering to the computer about shades of green while furiously scribbling on his tablet.  

He’s been at it for so long now that John is having serious doubts about how awake he is. After hours of frustrated tugging, Karkat’s hair is standing straight out from his head and the dark, ever-present shadows under his eyes look like they might soon become sentient.

Karkat looks up at the collected officers and shouts, “I’ve almost got it just give me a couple minutes!” before going back to fighting with his equipment. Dave and John hardly acknowledge him as it’s the third time he said that.

“Oh my god.” John says, struggling to keep his voice low, “This is so not about how much we suck --Which we don’t. We don’t suck. We are the best ship and the best crew. This is about your weird hateboner for Karkat!”

“It is _not_ about my weird hateboner for-- _I don’t have a boner for Karkat_!” Dave leans forward to hiss at John, glancing back to make sure that Karkat is still lost in his own world of color pallets and institutionalized societal oppression.

“This isn’t about my not trusting that nubby dumbass to get us through a tense diplomatic mission and _everything_ to do with the fact that the brass is letting us walk into what could very well be a death trap of epic fucking proportions.  Karkat isn’t the only reason they chose us for the job. They know that if we fuck up and get nuked they won’t be losing their best and brightest when we go.”

And that is it. John is so utterly done with Lieutenant Strider’s negative bullshit.  

"Lieutenant.” John snaps. He leans close enough to Dave’s face that he can almost see his eyes through the dark plastic of his glasses. “We are _not_ travelling halfway across federation space just to piss Karkat off and get ourselves killed! We are going to do this mission to _the best of our ability_. We are going to pull it off without anyone getting hurt. And when we get back to San Francisco every single member of Starfleet is going to suck up to us like the rockstars that we are. Because we are _the best and the brightest_ in the whole goddamn Federation! Got it?”

“Solid.” Dave tells him. The eyebrow raising high over the rim of his glasses lets John know that he has gotten through to him in some way.  There’s no knowing _how_ , of course.  For such a great communications specialist, Dave can be really impossible to decipher.

“I love you like a brother, Strider, but I am the Captain of this ship and I am not going to put up with defeatist bullshit. Do you understand.”

“Yes sir.” John can’t tell if Dave is being sarcastic or not, but he chooses to believe the former. For the sake of his blood pressure.  

“By the time we get in contact with the ambassadorial team I need you to have a basic grasp of Alternian language and culture. If Karkat isn’t coming down to the planet I need someone who can tell me how badly we’re screwing up.”

“The fuck do you mean Karkat isn’t coming down to the planet?”

“Apparently he’s not too keen on returning to a place that has been trying to murder him since infancy. And according to regulations I can’t actually force him to do it.”

“What? _No_.” Dave shoots out of his chair and stomps over to where Karkat seems to be having a furious shouting match with his tablet, “This is stupid. Karkat. _You_ are stupid. Also completely batshit if you think any of us are going to meet with the fucking queen of trolls without you in the group.”

“Suck it up, Strider, there’s more going on here than you know” Karkat snaps back, “And it’s my right to refuse to participate in away missions--”

“It’s fucking _insubordination_ is what it is and also a shitty thing to do to your crew you pointy little elf!”

“Don’t tell me what to do bulgesweat! _I’m_ the expert here, and I say that sending me down to the planet could get us all killed in the grossest ways.”

“Not sending you down to the planet is _definitely_ going to get us all killed, dickweed” Dave hisses, “You are going to fuck us all over. And you’re better than that you scrawny little piece of shit. _You are better_.”

The eye contact between the two officers stretches on and on. A deeply meaningful staring contest that makes John want to whistle and look at the ceiling.  

Karkat makes a sort of chittering cicada sound and it looks as though there is going to be a fight. Again. But Karkat just bares his teeth and goes back to shuffling through his files.  

“Look, we’re almost done here and then we can all go back to our quarters and get some fucking sleep and I can think about whether I want to jump in front of a plasma cannon for the good of the federation, all right?” He says after one of the most awkward pauses of John’s life.

Dave nods and sits as calm and collected as ever. But John can see the tension in his shoulders and the clench of his fist.  

“Finish your dumbass debrief so I can get the fuck away from your cowardly face.” He growls.  It’s been a long time since Dave has been so angry or so serious about, well, _anything_. It’s almost intimidating.

Karkat spends another minute chittering before settling back in his seat and giving the room a sheepish glance. “Alright.” he sighs, “Let’s get this knowledge-cramming session over with.”

 

* * *

 

Deep Space 12 is the nearest waystation to the wide and satellite-strewn chunk of space that separates the Federation from the Alternian Empire.  They arrive just as the endless pre-mission tension is reaching it’s peak.  The diplomatic delegation is already waiting to be beamed over to the Skaia by the time Jade pulls them into position.  

John can’t keep himself from pacing back and forth in the transporter room while waiting for the diplomatic party to beam aboard.  A data burst from Starfleet Command has informed him that the Alternians expect them to make contact in less than 18 hours.   

“We don’t have enough time.” He bitches to Lieutenant Strider (the elder) as they wait by the transporter pad, “We’ve got to brief the ambassador before we even get to the planet and Karkat refuses to do the troll lecture a second time.  Dave hasn’t said a word to anyone since the debrief and I still don’t know if Karkat is going to cave and come on the mission or not.”

“Mmmm.” Dirk says from his post. It is obvious that he is keenly invested in his Captain’s plight.

“Are they beaming up yet? Jeez how long does it take to step onto a transporter pad? Have you spoken to Dave at all about this?”

“Can’t say that I have, Sir.” Dirk could be slowly slipping into a coma and John wouldn’t have any clue because, much like his brother, his stupid non-regulation shades hide his expression entirely.

Dirk could be slowly slipping into a coma and John wouldn’t have any clue because (much like Strider the Younger) his stupid non-regulation shades hide his expression entirely.

“Also why are you even here?” John asks, “Where is the normal transport tech? Don’t you have Cheif Engineer stuff to do?”

“I’m the moral support.” Dirk’s head is turned in John’s direction but it’s anybody’s guess whether he’s actually looking. His voice is the same flat deadpan as always.

“Oh. Thanks, I guess,” John says.

“Anything for our precious leader.” Dirk’s voice is like sandpaper.  John does feel supported, in a weird, sort of robotic way.  He’s less jumpy, at least.

John is just about to say something about how he and Dirk should be better bropals, get to know each other better maybe. But he is interrupted by the hum of the transporter starting up. And it’s time to at least _look_ like a competent starship captain.

John tugs on the hem of his shirt and pastes on a smile, “Here we go.”

“Showtime.” Dirk says with his eyes fixed on his readouts, hopefully to prevent a second spleen disaster.  John is still pretty damn sure that Dirk _caused_ the malfunction as part of his ongoing brotherly contest with John’s Communications Officer.

But now isn’t the time to contemplate potential fratricide. Six bodies have finished materializing on the platform, and the woman in front is stepping forward almost before she’s done sparkling.  

She is much shorter than John, even with the added height of a pair of deadly high heels, and her deep blue wraparound dress highlights her curves.  Her dark hair has been secured with a vulcan-made scarf that John is sure cost more than his entire wardrobe combined.

“Captain Egbert.” She says in a clipped and coldly professional tone, with a sharp nod of greeting.

“Ambassador Crocker.” John snaps to attention, “Welcome to the _Skaia_. We’re pleased to have you on board.”

“Mm.” She casts a dismissive eye over John and his lieutenant and gives a little sniff, “Well it’s not the _Farragut_ is it?”

John holds her gaze for a long moment while the rest of the diplomatic team steps off the transporter pad.  It’s as intense a staring contest as John’s ever had with someone who isn’t Karkat.

John cracks first, “Pfft, oh _man_!”

“Hoo hoo hoo!” She chortles, “I had you going for a minute there John-John, what a zinger!”

Jane moves in to give him one of the tightest and most effective hugs John has had since… We’ll since the last time he saw his cousin in person.

“Gosh, you’re looking good! And this is your ship!”

“This is my ship!” John tosses his hands up, somehow trying to encompass the whole of the _Skaia_ in one gesture.

“I love it already!” She cheers, “This is all sort of thrilling you know.”

“Do I ever!” John grins, “Boy am I glad that you’re the one coming along! Let’s get you all settled into quarters and we can get this show on the road.  Have you met my Chief Engineer?  This is Lieutenant Dirk Strider, Strider meet my cousin Jane… Er... I mean Ambassador Crocker.”

“We’ve met.” Dirk says with an actual real life smile, “Welcome aboard Ambassador.”

“Strider!” She gives Dirk a cheerful wave that John is sure would have been a hug if they didn’t have the bulky console between them.  “ _Delightful_. Will you be coming down to the planet with us, then?”

“The Alternians have requested a small landing party,” John explains as he leads her and her entourage out of the transporter bay, “So we’re going down with necessary personnel only.”  

Jane raises an eyebrow and glances over at her team, “And do any of my people count as ‘necessary personnel’ Captain Egbert?”

“Oh, yeah sure Jane!” John says, “We won’t be bringing any additional security, is all. Considering the skillset of the people we do have I don’t think it should be an issue.”

“Great!” Jane grins and John can’t help but match her.  Jane is a little too old to have grown up with John, she's more of a cool aunt than a cousin.  But the two of them have always shared a mutual enthusiasm for exploration and adventure and _fucking space oh my god_.  She is John's favorite relative, hands down.

“In that case let me introduce you to Lieutenants Lalonde and English.” Jane says, gesturing to the two officers in red uniforms who flank her as expertly as any bodyguards.  John greets them in turn, and does not in any way mention the fact that the pretty blonde is definitely related to his step mother.  He hasn’t met a Lalonde yet who wanted to talk about the Admiral.

It is a bit strange, John thinks as they reach the guest corners, that so many people assigned to this mission are somehow related to the Admiral.  Dave’s “underhanded political manipulations” theory might not be entirely off-base.

But that’s bullshit. The Federation is peaceful and well-intentioned and that kind of behavior sounds a lot more like, well like _Alternia_. John decides not to think about it.

“Your quarters are here,” He tells the delegation, “But I’m afraid you won’t have much time to rest. We’ve got about ten hours before we enter Alternian space, and they’ll send us a databurst with information regarding the talks once we’ve cleared the neutral zone. I understand data transfer can get tricky the closer we get to their hatching planet so we might have a delay when contacting the Federation.”

John get’s his serious face on, it’s harder than it seems. “I hope you understand the position we are in as the first delegation to reach out to the Alternian Empire.  The odds are stacked against us and there is a high likelihood that the whole thing will go to really shitty shit.”

Jane nods with cheerful enthusiasm.  Her officers look sort of generally bemused by John’s language, but he is sure that they’ll get used to it. They work with Jane after all.

“I’ve sent data packets to your PADDs with cultural information and mission parameters. They’ll be updated as soon as we get word from the Condesce. We’ll have a quick debrief before beam-down.  Sound good?”

“Excellent!” Says English with a snappy grin, “We’re waiting on your word, Captain.”

John gives a sharp nod and leaves them to get settled.  There’s a lot to do in the next couple hours, the least of which is convincing his XO to be in the transporter room when the time comes.  He should head back to the bridge, check in with the crew and get started on the numerous tasks that lay ahead of him.  He should do a lot of things.

John doesn’t jog on his way to Karkat’s quarters. At least not where anyone could see.

 

* * *

 

Karkat keeps the light in his quarters so dim that even he has to squint to make out certain details. It’s the only remedy for the near-constant headache he gets from the bright lighting in every other part of the ship.

He has, on occasion, considered wearing dark glasses to keep out the glare. But Karkat would rather be a walking migraine than look like Strider.  He suffers the light. He’s used to it.

But in his personal space he can keep it as dark as he wants, and he can have the computer pump the heat and moisture up to something that almost resembles home.  In the dead of third-shift Karkat can almost imagine he’s back on Alternia, before everything went ovoid-fruit-shaped.  Like maybe his lusus is just in the other room, busily tearing small animals to bits in preparation for the evening meal.  

But the only things on the other side of Karkat’s door are the brightly lit hallways of the Skaia and Karkat’s lusus is never going to mulch rodents into paste again.  He tries not to think about it too much.

Every time John comes to visit he goes out of his way to complain about how inhospitable Karkat keeps his rooms. But this time John doesn’t say a word. He presses his hand against the wall and feels his way over to Karkat’s bed in silence, sitting as close as he can to the grayish blob that must be his first officer.  

“Hey.” John says after an almost unbearable stretch of silence.

“Mrn.” Karkat responds.

“How’re you doing?”

“....fuckoff” Karkat definitely isn’t asleep because John knows for a fact that he sleeps in a tub full of goo in the bathroom. He's curled up on his bed with a blanket pulled over his head instead, doing his best to make a great impression of somebody who isn’t fully awake.

“Karkat I know for a fact that you think beds are only for sex and movie marathons.  Get up and talk to me.”

“Please fuck off. Kindly. _Sir_.”

“No way! I’m here to make sure that my Number One hasn’t thrown himself into a pit of despair and I’m not leaving until I see a smile… Or at last some kind of cheerful grimace.”

“Ugh.” Karkat sits up, finally, and even in the dark John can feel the intensity of his glare.

“It’s so not fair that you can see me and I can’t see you.”

“Suck it up." Karkat mutters, almost vicious enough for him to sound like his normal self.

“Consider it sucked.” John says, “Only pretend I said that in a less humiliating way.”

“Good then.”  

A silence follows where John feels himself slowly ooze toward Karkat, until he has his head nestled between Karkat’s horns and his arms wrapped about Karkat’s body in what is pretty much the best cuddle in the quadrant.  A totally not-sexy cuddle, because apparently Karkat and John are the kind of boyfriends who don’t have sex.  Not that John wants to have sex with Karkat. A quick check-in with his dick confirms that John absolutely does not want to have sex with Karkat.

John must have let himself go stiff and awkward with all the sex-with-Karkat thoughts floating around his head because his first officer gives a little huff and punches him tenderly on the head.

“If you’re going to be weird about this you can go fuck yourself right out the door.” Karkat snaps.

“I’m not weird! I’m being supportive!”

Karkat grumbles but there’s a pleased clicking coming from the back of his throat and he relaxes back against John’s chest.

“Don’t try to convince me to go on the mission.” Karkat whispers after another moment.

“Do you hear me talking?” John whispers back, “I’m here to cuddle my platonic boyfriend until he feels like maybe coming out of his cave sometime this year. In silence if necessary.”

Karkat snorts, “I thought we weren’t going to talk about that either.”

“Talk about what?” John rubs his cheek against Karkat’s skull and grins at the pleased rattle he gets in return.

“ _This_.” Karkat says, “The whole-- _Us_ thing. I don’t know if the thought crossed the empty billowing cavern that is your skull but we’re sort of _piling_ right now.  We are actually in a pile.”

They do seem to be lounging on top of a surprisingly comfortable collection of cushions and blankets that John has assumed were just part of Karkat’s interior decorating scheme.  Huh.

“Is this sort of like sex but for feelings?” John asks.

“No! Yes! Thats-- That’s actually a really fucking good way to describe it.  And I could sort of use this right now so I don’t know if I can take your weird human romantic crisis.”

John has a lot of very confusing and uncaptainly feelings trapped in his chest and waiting to get out.  Important things to say like “ _why didn’t you ever tell me we were dating?_ ” and “ _is it weird that I feel sort of used_?” and also “ _I think I might love you the way you want me to_ ”.

But he doesn’t say any of that because they’re only a few hours away from the biggest mission of the decade and John doesn’t have time or resources to handle this. He shouldn’t even be here really. But he is. For reasons.

“Just tell me what you need.” John says, pressing his forehead to Karkat’s and keeping eye contact as best he can. Their breath mingles and they are close enough to kiss, if they wanted to. John _isn’t sure_ if he wants to kiss him. Fuck.  “We’ll figure it all out later. Just-- Right now just tell me _what it is that you need_.”

Karkat moans and lets his head fall down under John’s chin again, pressing his entire body into John’s and just letting go.  It’s like John is holding a puddle of rumbling tiny troll.  It’s-- It’s actually really nice.

Karkat says something that is entirely muffled in John’s chest. He has to repeat himself a couple times before John can figure out that he’s saying “shoosh me”.  And, okay, John can do that.

“Shhhh.” John whispers. He runs his hand down Karkat’s back, stroking gently and rhythmically because he likes and it feels nice. “Shush. Shut up.”

Karkat trembles hard enough to make John concerned, but an annoyed punch to John’s shoulder when he stops clues him in that the shaking might be good.  It is good. John feels almost bonelessly relaxed and his worries over the whole _Alternia_ thing feel distant and unimportant.   

John has no idea what it is, but it’s good.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are reading this thank you for sticking around! I have been so thrilled with the feedback on this fic! It has been an awfully long time between updates, mostly because I went back and HEAVILY REVISED/REWROTE the first two chapters. Those chapters have also been updated, so maybe you should read them again!
> 
> This is probably the biggest project I have ever attempted and the progress has been VERY SLOW but I will hopefully get into the swing of things and post more quickly. Or not. You never know. If anyone is interested in beta-reading the fic I will love you forever and you should let me know. 
> 
> Live Long and Prosper!


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